Never Die Alone

You have to get yourself free, Zoe. No one else is going to help you.

Silently, her jaw set, she picked at the huge knots in the semidarkness, working at the rope restraining her wrists, determined to break free.

Before it was too late. The clock on the wall counted off the seconds of her life.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

And still his sickening voice chanted the fateful song. “Happy birthday, dear twinsies,” he warbled tonelessly, then chuckled to himself, a freak to the core. Chloe’s sobbing continued, almost a countermelody to his grumbled refrain.

Shut up, Chloe! Don’t irritate him. He’s going to kill us, maybe torture and rape us first, so don’t hasten the process.

But her twin kept whimpering.

Zoe couldn’t see Chloe. She had tried, but the room was too dark; when she slid her gaze toward the sound of soft crying, she saw only a deep umbra.

If only she had some other means of escape aside from her own wits. A weapon. A club or a knife or a saw or a rake or an ax or . . . God, what she’d do for a damned gun. But as she squinted, her gaze scraping the walls and floor, there was only a meager array of tools on the wall and a cell phone that never seemed to ring, even though he talked on it often enough, always, it seemed to the same person. Now, he was using scissors, and she thought she spied screwdrivers and a crowbar on the wall, but she couldn’t be sure. The twilight was pervasive, the stale air close as she noiselessly picked at the knots. Feeling the rope shift, she tamped down a ray of hope that rose in her heart. No time to get ahead of herself. And she was sweating. Beads of perspiration rolled down toward the hard floor, her fingers slippery as she plucked at the braided nylon, her joints straining.

The rope shifted.

Loosened.

Or was it her mind?

Oh. God.

She pulled again on that end of the cord and again she felt the tension on her bonds lessen.

Chloe sniffed loudly, sobbed again.

Stop, Zoe wanted to shout. Don’t give this sicko the satisfaction of hearing your fear. Be strong. You can. You know you can.

But that was a lie, wasn’t it? Deep down Zoe had always known that she was the strong one, that her twin was weaker, always had been. Hadn’t Zoe played the role of protector since the day they were born, twenty-one years ago? Zoe had come into the world first, and according to their parents had let out a yowl that nearly shook the concrete and steel of the hospital. Minutes later her younger sister had entered this life with barely a peep. Chloe had been so quiet the maternity staff had to double-check to make certain the smaller baby had been breathing, her little heart beating.

Right now Zoe’s younger sister was certainly making up for that quiet entrance into St. Anthony’s Hospital, and it wasn’t a good thing.

Be quiet.

Please, please, please!

Be brave.

I’ll save you.

Zoe let go of the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

If I can.

She, too, wanted to cry but knew it wouldn’t help. She, too, felt the need to scream and rail at the heavens, but again, that would do more harm than good. Zoe didn’t want the bastard to know what she was thinking or even that she was aware. She could not let him know she was plotting her escape. Let him believe her to be compliant and either still groggy from whatever drug he’d injected her with or so scared out of her mind that she couldn’t fight back. Let him think that she would be easy to deal with, that she would do exactly what he wanted without a fight.

As if!

Now, if she could just break free . . .

Somehow save herself and her twin. Jesus, could her sister please stop with the pathetic little sobs?

In the darkness, she stretched, trying to lengthen the cords holding her fast. She froze. The off-key singing was getting closer.

Her stomach crumpled in on itself and she almost gagged to think that the nut job had stopped whatever he was doing at the workbench and was drawing near. His footsteps padded on the ground, soft and frightening, but at least she had some idea of where he was in the gloom.

From the corner of her eye, she saw him reach for something on the wall above her—some new tool. Dear God, were there weapons just beyond her reach? Again, her heart leaped with hope as he turned back to the bench.

Come on. Come on.

Sweat drizzled down her back as once again she began to loosen the knotted cord.

“Hey!” His gravelly voice cut through the darkness. Sharp. Angry. The stupid song momentarily forgotten.

She froze. Oh, dear God, if he figured out that she was trying to escape—

“Quit that!” he yelled.

She was doomed! Drenched in her own sweat, she didn’t so much as draw a single breath.

“All that cryin’ and sobbin’. Stop it. Won’t do no good anyhow. Besides,” he said, the edge in his voice giving way to a jovial tone. “It’s almost your birthday, so you should be happy. Right?” he cajoled Chloe, the evil in his voice dripping over his words.

Zoe’s skin crawled at his personal tone.

He glanced at the clock again and grunted. “Damn, the time.”

What the hell was his fascination with the time? Did he have to be somewhere? Was it important? Why was a clock mounted in this austere cave of a room?

“No more wailing!” And then he was back at it, humming and singing as he tinkered at the bench, working on . . . what? Nothing good, she thought. She didn’t want to go there, didn’t want to imagine what horrid, twisted fate he had plotted for Chloe and herself; the hollow pit in her stomach warned her that whatever he had in mind would be more horrible than she could imagine. A sick, slow torture and probable rape, considering the fact that he’d stripped her. No, she wouldn’t think of the possibilities, couldn’t go there.

With renewed conviction, she worked at her bonds, feeling the cords on her wrists slacken a bit more. She didn’t have a plan. She knew only that the first step was to break free before he realized what was happening, somehow get the drop on him. Get herself and her sister out of here. Maybe lock him inside if it were possible.

But first, the rope. It cut deep into her wrists, rubbing her skin raw, stinging as she plucked at the knot. With her back to him, she could only hope her movements were veiled by the darkness. Her sister sobbed a little more softly now, though it was still enough to distract him.

“I said knock it off,” he yelled angrily over the steady ticking of the clock. “Fuck!”

Snap!

Her heart stopped. The earthy-smelling room seemed to close in on her.

Oh, no!

She hazarded a glance over her shoulder and again saw the thin belt in the dim light that fell softly over his massive shoulders and back. Looming in a pool of gray light, still holding the horrid belt, he placed his hands on his hips and stared into the darkness, no doubt toward her twin.

“Didn’t you fuckin’ hear me?”

Oh. Dear. God. Chloe!

Snap!

He moved so quickly to crack the belt again, Zoe nearly jumped. In the silence that followed, Zoe wanted to cry for her sister, who had probably just received the worst whipping of her life.

“Don’t make me use this again,” he warned, his voice low and gravelly. He raised his arm again, and the leather snaked from his clenched fist.

Her throat turned to sand.

Fear slid through her blood.

Frantically she worked, watching him while the rope began to give. A little. Then a little more. She could move her hands more freely, felt the blood pumping through her veins again, sensation returning to her tingling fingers.

And then, almost magically, the cord gave way. The tight manacle fell free into a loose braid, and the tension on her neck relaxed.